


I'm holding my breath for you

by PoemAboutCitylights



Series: The aftermaths [2]
Category: Sports RPF, Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M, Roland Garros, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because we all deserve it, happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 15:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemAboutCitylights/pseuds/PoemAboutCitylights
Summary: Roger visits Rafa in the locker room after a Grand Slam - this time because he has won.****Sequel to my Comfort Fic after Rafa had to drop out of the Australian Open due to an injury





	I'm holding my breath for you

**Author's Note:**

> The titles "there's comfort at the bottom of the swimming pool" + "I'm holding my breath for you" are from the Front Bottom's song "swimming pool"

The moment Rafa made the final point of the tournament, Roger felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in five months. Because that was exactly the period of time that he had spent worrying. Or rather; that Rafa had spent worrying, doubting himself and his body since he had had to drop out of the Australian Open due to an injury. And Roger, loving the Spaniard with everything he had, hadn’t been able to stand the fear in the younger one’s eyes.   
So when Dominic hit the ball, shortly after followed by an “out!”, he released a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, while his heart was beating in his throat that had been way too tight all the time.   
Rafa had done it.   
Not for the first nor the fifth but the _eleventh_ time.  
There honestly weren’t any words for the pride Roger felt just thinking about the achievements of the Spaniard. With tears of relief in his eyes, he watched how the Majorcan answered the questions of the on court interviews and thanked his team, his family, his fans and everyone that had supported him on the way.   
He looks so happy, Roger thinks, captivated by his boyfriend’s smiles and the crinkles around his eyes that had deepened throughout the years while they had once only been visible when Rafa had smiled.   
And God, how the Swiss wished he could actually share that moment with Rafa, how he wished he was able to hug him and wrap his arms around the younger one’s strong back, to kiss his temples and brush back his curls, right Philippe Chatrier.    
Instead, he was sitting here, next to warm up equipment and ergometers.   
But he’d be patient, for Rafa and for what they shared, because sooner or later he would hold the younger one in his arms and he had made sure that it would be as soon as possible.   
Over were the times when he had been willing to spend weeks, months even, without seeing the Spaniard while they were on tour of in rehab.   
He was too old for that shit.   
  
The TV was still running, showing the now emptying centre court after the ceremony, when the door of Roger’s hideout opened up.   
Rafa stumbled into the locker room, a big smile still plastered on his face, the trophy in his taped fingers. In fact, he was so caught up in it that the Swiss had to clear his throat in order to get the Majorcan’s attention.   
Rafa’s gaze shot up and then his eyes widened almost comically, almost dropping his precious trophy.   
“Watch out!” Roger called and rushed close, helping the Spaniard to set the award down carefully while Rafa was still staring at him.   
“Rogelio!” the younger one’s face lit up some more, if that was even possible, before he pulled Roger into a tight hug that knocked the oxygen out of the Swiss’ chest.   
He wrapped his arms around the number 1’s back and pressed a kiss to Rafa’s cheek, who then buried his face in the crook of Roger’s neck.   
“You here,” Rafa whispered, his skin still somewhat damp, bringing some distance between them to look at Roger, as if he couldn’t trust his eyes. He then shook his head in disbelief, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen into his face, freed of his bandana.   
“I cannot believe, no?”   
“That I’m here?” Roger asked with a chuckle and pulled Rafa back with him, sitting down on a bench in the back of the room. Rafa settled in his lap with a soft giggle, his legs on each side of the Swiss’ thigh, bringing together his hands in Roger’s neck.   
“Everything. You here and the win. Not expect it in beginning of the year, no?”   
With a sigh, Rafa leaned his forehead against the older player’s, his smile still so wide that Roger simply had to lean in and place a kiss against the corner of his lips.   
“I told you, didn’t I? When we were in that goddamn locker room, back at the Australian Open.”   
“Sí,” Rafa whispered, his gaze dropping for a second.   
“I thought I never win again, no? Not on clay, not with the knee.”   
“I always knew you’d make it. I don’t know anyone who’s as passionate as you are, Rafa.”   
Roger wouldn’t have believed it if he wasn’t so close but the Majorcan actually blushed at the words, while he drew in his bottom lip and hid his face away against the older one’s shoulder.   
“Was hard work still, no?” Rafa mumbled, his voice muffled by Roger’s shirt.   
“Of course it was. And I’m so proud of you.”   
The Spaniard looked at him again, his brown eyes sparkling with joy and happiness.   
“Thanks, Rogelio. For coming here. You always believe in me, even when I no believe in me.”   
His dark eyes were more serious now, scanning Roger’s face quickly.   
“Means a lot,” the younger one added and ran a taped finger across Roger’s cheekbone.   
“More than La Undecima?” Roger asked jokingly and teasingly poked a finger into Rafa’s side, right below his ribs.   
His heart jumped a beat when the Majorcan cupped his face with both hands, his eyes focused and serious.   
“It actually do.”   
Roger’s gaze dropped while a lump formed in his throat.   
“I serious, Roger. Means a lot.”   
“I… Thank you, Rafa,” he managed to croak out, before he pulled the younger man in for a kiss, savouring up this moment for now and ever.   
  
He felt Rafa’s fingertips against his neck, carefully playing with loose strands of hair and couldn’t stop himself from thinking about for how long he had known Rafa.  
For how long he had known that talented kid from Manacor that hadn’t been able to speak a single word in English in the beginning, that had worked out harder than everyone else, the one that Roger had fallen in love with so long ago.   
When they eventually broke apart, Roger smirked at the younger one.   
“You should get ready for the media marathon.”   
Rafa moaned in dissatisfaction, an annoyed look immediately flashing across his face while his eyebrows knitted up.   
Roger bit down on his lip to stop a chuckle from erupting.   
“I much rather stay here with you, no?”   
“You want to hold a press conference while sitting on my lap?” Roger asked and grinned, nudging the Spaniard’s hip.   
Rafa let out a soft sigh before he shot the Swiss a quick smile.   
“Why not? Would be something else, sí?”   
“Maybe after the next Grand Slam.”   
Rafa leaned in a last time, kissing Roger softly, promising in its very own way.   
“After you win Wimbledon you mean? Want to steal my spotlight, no?”   
“Exactly,” Roger answered, giving Rafa’s ass a gentle slap when he got up with another dissatisfied groan.   
“Deal!”   
 

**Author's Note:**

> This is just 100% fluff because we all deserve it. No bad emotions allowed today.


End file.
